


This Doesn't Hurt

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: Jean is in an abusive relationship, and Eren's trying not to lose his goddamn mind.





	

" – don't understand what you were thinking. This is _unacceptable_. I expect better than this, and you _know_ better than this."

Eren Jaeger pauses outside the door. 

He only just signed his contract with _The Met_ , and doesn't know his boss, Mr. Ian Boyd, particularly well, but that sharp, reprimanding tone is pretty universal. 

Boyd is obviously talking to his kid, and the last thing Eren wants is to step into the middle of what sounds like a private, deeply embarrassing, scolding. But he looks down at the file in his hand, full of low compression photographs, marked _READY TO PRINT_. Eren clears his throat and forces himself to knock on the door as he opens it.

"Hey, Mr. Boyd? When you're free – "

Eren stops, and openly stares. 

It's not a kid standing in front of Boyd, but a grown ass man, leaning against Boyd's desk, head bowed, arms crossed, in an unmistakeably defeated posture. 

"What is it?"

"Uh – " Eren blinks, refocusing on Boyd. "We were going over the March issue. One of the sponsors dropped, we need you to look over the new center spread. When you're free."

It's a serious enough problem that annoyance hardens on Boyd's face, growing business-like and gruff. "Let's see it. You're the new guy – Aaron, Right?"

There's something in the way Boyd goes at the _R_ that makes it obvious he's getting the name wrong, but Eren nods. Close enough. "Yep."

"First time working with Met?" Boyd asks, still gruff, but doing a manly/friendly version of it now.

"Yeah – it's been great," he says, and while glad to be on Boyd's good side, Eren is still trying to do the polite thing and pretend like he just didn't notice the other man in the room, still slumped, still staring down at his feet, obviously hoping to go unseen. But there's something familiar about him that will not be ignored, demanding Eren's attention, and his brain works, trying to line up the silhouette, the posture, with memory… 

When it suddenly _clicks_ , Eren nearly chokes.

Jean Kirstein. 

~

Eren realized he hated Jean Kirstein three years ago. 

Eren doesn't know what to do with himself when he gets the invite to photograph for _Banner_ magazine, and spends an entire week stalking the current staff online, combing through their sites and portfolios. 

Kirstein's work immediately stands out. 

Eren himself started photography on landscapes and still life, cities and skylines, instinctively hunting out balance in the depth/shapes/textures/voids/etc before he even knew the word _composition_. 

As a professional, he doesn't really like reviewing portfolios full of portraits, because they're _easy_ (and also because they're lies, but that's something he's never been able to explain while sober). That's all Kirstein has – but these portraits are _ugly_. Often in hyper contrast, the blacks blacker and the whites blown out, which is cliché on its own but not with the choice of focus: Unflattering expressions, bulging rolls of flesh, contorted poses, ugly, wrinkled, tight-faced emotion, but _real_ , and, somehow, sympathetic. The subjects don't look grotesque, they look scared, weak, vulnerable, angry and open and honest and at first Eren thinks it's an accident, that the person behind the lens doesn't really know what he's doing, but four photos in and it's clear it's deliberate, that it's orchestrated, a choice.

Eren is excited to meet this person, who sees the ugliest of humanity, and embraces it, underlines it, but makes it relatable rather than repulsive. He wants to talk to him and see him work, wants to work _with_ him. 

This excited energy lasts only as long as it takes to actually meet the douche – first day, waiting in the lobby. Kirstein comes in with a messenger bag over his shoulder, coffee in hand, four piercings in one ear, one on his lip, a close undercut, the rest his hair dyed a muddy blue and just a little too short for the topknot he's attempting. 

"Eren Jaeger, I'm the new photographer – "

"The new _intern_?" Kirstein corrects, not even pausing as he walks past Eren, into the office.

Jean Kirstein is an intern, too, but a favorite at the studio, already gearing up for a more glamorous opportunity with a major publisher in the next year.

Especially annoying are the models, who can sense the start of Jean's rise and are eager to work with him, showing up on time and sober for his shoots, where Eren's usual assignments are not exactly appealing, not convenient, and his models sometimes late, often hungover.

"… Think we should reschedule?" Marco asks. He's the only model on set, when three were scheduled. They've been waiting an hour. 

Eren scowls at the perfect, dusky, romantic sunrise, the perfect weather, Marco looking perfect in his wardrobe, but as good as Marco is, he can't carry a shoot meant for three.

He considers calling the no-shows with one more warning, but knows there's no point. Even if they do manage to wake up enough to answer, there's only forty minutes max of this sunrise left. By the time they get cleaned up and dressed, the sun will blow out the whole shoot. 

"Yeah," Eren mutters in defeat, and starts gathering up his gear. "I'll let you know when."

"Oh," Marco says, after gathering up his belongings, his button up hanging open as he looks at his phone. "Well, this might explain it."

On Marco's phone is a group text, from Kirstein, inviting him and the missing models to a last minute shoot. 

"What? For who??" Eren demands.

"It doesn't look like an assignment," Marco says, scrolling through his messages. "Just like, a portfolio piece, I guess."

Both the models have checked in online with excited little updates, winking and peace-signing in their selfies on Kirstein's set, sober and bright eyed. Eren is furious – and doesn't realize how roughly he's handling his gear until Marco puts a hand on his shoulder, physically stopping him from hurling his camera bag into the backseat of his car. 

Thankfully for all parties involved, there's already a countdown going for Kirstein's departure to his fucking _glamorous_ contract, and in less than two weeks, if his luck holds out, Eren will never have to look Kirstein in the face again. 

Good fucking riddance. 

~

Last summer, Eren put a guy in the hospital. 

It was a bar fight, and Eren was justified, and he isn't sorry.

His trial is at the end of the month and this is his last meeting with his lawyer, a Mr. Armin Arlert, who is tiny and blond and seems to be perpetually anxious, though that might just be because of the circumstances.

"If we could just get that girl as a witness," Armin says, glaring down at Eren's case file. It's probably the fiftieth time he's said it. They have some grainy security footage of the mystery woman's face, but no name or age or anything else. Eren doesn't think it would help much, she probably doesn't remember the night any better than him. 

It went like this: a guy – big, like, over 6' – was manhandling someone half his size out the door. It was her drunk, weepy, slurred voice that got Eren's attention, and he followed them out of the club, to the parking lot. Eren shoved the guy, the girl stumbled to the sidewalk, a fist started coming at Eren's face and – well. Eren had also been drunk, and his memories were choppy, but he wasn't surprised to hear what he'd done the next day, eye swollen, half his face bruised. He's short but he's scrappy as hell in a fight, especially when properly motivated. 

When he gets like that he doesn't really know when to stay down. 

He doesn't really know when to stop.

"The _only thing_ that saved you is your lack of priors," Armin says. He managed to get it down to a battery charge, a misdemeanor, so Eren'll probably just be punished with a fine, if everything goes according to plan. "Just try not to be a hero between now and the trial, alright?"

He sounds close to actually begging, and Eren has to avoid his pleading stare. "Yeah," Eren says, because he'll try, he really will, but knows if it happens again he won't do a single thing different.

Armin sighs, as though he knows it's hopeless, and they go over the questions one more time. 

~

 **me** : hey kirstein is working here??  
**Marco** : Really?  
**me** : u didn't warn me?  
**me** : oh  
**me** : u didnt kno?  
**Marco** : :( I haven't heard from Jean in a while.  
**Marco** : Tell him hi from me! :)

Not fucking likely. 

Eren pockets his phone. It's a weird thing that Jean and Marco stopped talking, though. They've been friends for years, long before Eren was brought on at _Banner_ , but – maybe it's not the weirdest thing. People drift apart. Things happen, people change. Marco probably just got tired of humoring the douche. Admittedly, Marco's response makes that seem unlikely, but it's a satisfying thing to tell himself.

When Eren gets in the elevator, holding the _READY TO PRINT_ images now approved by Mr. Boyd, he sees Sasha, an intern wheeling a cart full of coffee and donuts.

"Whoa! What happened there?" she asks.

"Huh?"

Sasha points to her hand, while staring down at Eren's.

"Oh." Eren holds up his left hand, wiggling the remaining fingers to emphasize the empty stump of his ring finger. "Cat bite. Got infected."

Sasha sucks in air through her teeth, a noise of sympathy. She's staring openly at the space in a way some would consider rude, but Eren doesn't really mind. It's genuine, and those are the only kind of people he can really get along with. Her stare is curious, investigative, and it's fine, until Eren has a sudden, sharp, painful jab of a memory.

He jams his hand in his pocket, and Sasha offers him a donut in sheepish apology. 

~

Eren does, actually, look Kirstein in the face again before he leaves _Banner_.

It's his farewell party at a local bar, and Kirstein is swarmed on all sides by 'friends' wishing him well, saying that they _have_ to stay in touch. But Eren is just being cynical, hunched over his drink in the corner, glaring. Everyone needs contacts in this business, and Kirstein is obviously a useful one, so of course everyone is doing their best to keep that alive. If Eren was smart, he'd be doing the same, but he knows if he gets anywhere near Kirstein tonight, there's going to be a fight. He's still too keyed up from his ruined shoot and the stolen models, from Kirstein's fucking smug face and smug attitude and smug fucking piercings, smug skinny jeans and sloppy dye job and just fucking – everything.

If he was a few years younger, still in college, Eren would probably confront him, just on principle, but these are his colleagues and he's not going to get messy here.

He can't stop himself from glaring though, and eventually Kirstein sees it. Kirstein smirks, and it's obnoxious, and he starts walking over, fucking _obnoxiously_. 

"Hey, intern," Kirstein says. 

"You want something?" Eren asks, tense all over, annoyance coming to life under his skin and heating him, making his jaw clench. 

Kirstein shrugs with his entire body, cocking his head the side. It's oddly loose body language – almost _flirtatious?_ It takes Eren, and Eren's righteous fury, off guard. 

"It's my last night in this city," Kirstein says.

"So?"

"So," Kirstein says, looking off to the side, tongue working on the inside of his lip ring nervously. "You busy?"

~

Kirstein is a little too much image. He's an orchestrated mix of vintage and designer, not even hipster, hipster- _inspired_. Eren sees him as these bits and pieces, reducing him to almost cartoonish elements rather than seeing a whole, living being. It makes him easier to dismiss, to let the rudeness slide of his back. 

Until he sees Kirstein's _Wild Desires_ spread. Relatively speaking it's one of his less successful projects; commercial, but surprisingly unconventional. The lovely swell of a man's ass in the forefront, traveling up a curved, muscled spine, broad shoulders in the far, far distance, larger that life. The only thing in focus is the dimples just above the curve of the ass. It's a breathtakingly erotic photo, the expanse of tempting, naked flesh seems endless, and absolutely _nothing_ a straight man would decide to photograph. 

The sight of it infuriates Eren (because everything about Kirstein infuriates him), this realization that Kirstein is a person, that he has preferences, that he's _sexual_ , that he has – sexual _thoughts_ , and wants and – it makes things _complicated_ , kicks up dust into Eren's anger, makes it harder to dismiss and harder to forget.

~

Two steps out of the bar and they're making out.

Kirstein's apartment is in a shitty neighborhood, it's cramped and miserable and something about that sets Eren's soul at ease – Eren lives in a shitty ass apartment, too, but the fake image he created for himself doesn't make it an embarrassment to admit. For all Kirstein tries to capture honesty, he gets roadblocked by pride in his own life.

They jerk each other off. Kirstein is a pleasing length between his fingers, warm and responsive and he falls over himself, onto Eren, and they grind in time, Kirstein's mattress squeaking in rhythmic protest.

When he wakes in the morning, Kirstein is already up, leaning against the headboard, scrolling through the photos on his camera. 

Eren forces himself upright with a groan, peering over Kirstein's shoulder without a word. Kirstein shifts the view screen toward Eren for a better view, a gloating sort of expression on his face.

They're pictures of Eren, from just now, maybe even moments earlier, while he was sleeping. 

It is – a very vulnerable thing to be the subject of Kirstein's photos. His _real_ photos, not his commercial stuff. Eren's seen this before, how he strips models of all masks and dignity. 

He sees himself, asleep, curled inward, one hand tucked under his arm pit, the other between his legs, for warmth. It's not a restful sleep, his brow is creased – but he does not look angry, and of course does not look intimidating. He looks like a pouting child. He looks young, he looks _weak_ , and small.

"Even asleep you look pissed off," Kirstein says, back to that smug ass smile, scrolling to his next photo, and Eren knows it's going to be more of the same. 

Eren is furious, breathless with it, feeling brutally, ruthlessly exposed by the pictures. 

This time, Marco isn't there to stop him from breaking a camera.

~

Despite being sure that he was going to be hounded by news about Kirstein his entire professional life, that it would be impossible to avoid all the updates about his various successes, Eren actually managed to forget about him completely until just then, in Boyd's office. 

As he sits in the processing room, Eren opens Kirstein's online portfolio on his phone, and is confused to see most of the images are stuff he's already seen before – photos Kirstein took for _Banner_ , a few private pieces, and a few new ones, but the last update was... over a year ago. 

Confused, Eren pokes around a little more, checks Kirstein's social media page for a link to a new portfolio, but it's a dead end. The only thing Eren can find from Kirstein in the past year are a few selfies (annoyingly well composed for what they are).

He checks the Met's page, and sees Jean Kirstein on staff, but listed as a Consultant Editor... ? He has to Google the definition of the job and is still left confused, only getting results about books and literature. It sounds like the kind of position that old dogs in the industry have created just for them, when having them _around_ is useful, but in a vague, undefinable way. But Kirstein wasn't _that_ good, at least Boyd certainly didn't seem impressed by him. 

Which, now that he thinks about it, was pretty fucked up.

What sort of boss talks down to their employee like that, and how was _Jean Kirstein_ , of all people, putting up with it in silent defeat?

The only thing Eren can figure is Kirstein just fucked up hugely, knew he deserved that dressing down, and was smart enough to just put up with it. It eats at him, though, enough that by the end of the day Eren is poking around to see where he can find Kirstein. He's not on the assignment board, which isn't that surprising given his bizarro title.

He finds out that Jean has an actual desk at the building – good for him – on the fifth floor. Not a corner office, but there's windows, ceiling to floor. 

"Trouble with the boss?"

Kirstein jerks at Eren's voice, startled, and for a moment looks actually scared. Then he registers Eren and his eyes narrow. 

"Right. _You_."

Eren – Eren actually smiles. 

Maybe it's age, maybe it's the assurance of his own success, but all the rage and frustration Eren has for Kirstein of the past fizzles away somewhat anticlimactically in the presence of this new one, even finding Kirstein's annoyance somewhat charming. His hair is now a natural, dishwater blond, and there's another piercing in his lip, directly beside the first, but all the studs in his ears are gone. He looks younger, somehow, and it seems so simple now. Kirstein belittled him for a year or so, Eren destroyed a camera that cost thousands of dollars – why not call it even? 

"I tried to find your stuff online," Eren says, leaning against the door frame. "But your last upload was in July."

Kirstein relaxes slightly at Eren's mild tone, but is still obviously unnerved, cautious as he answers. "Yeah. I'm – on some other projects."

"Consulting? Editing?"

"I set up shoots, sign off on – whatever," he waves his hand vaguely. "And congratulations." 

"What?"

"Ian said they were on a hiring freeze for the next two seasons," Kirstein says, and looks Eren up and down. "So you must have really impressed someone."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks," Eren says. "Ian?"

"Ian Boyd. Your boss."

"Right. So does he usually go off on his employees like that? What'd you do?"

He expects Kirstein to get pissed off, either at Eren for asking, or Boyd for the telling off. He doesn't expect Kirstein to look away, expression cold, putting his hands back on his keyboard. "He does when he has to."

Eren waits a beat but Kirstein has obviously decided the conversation is over, typing in an endearingly chicken-peckish fashion. 

"So… see you around," Eren says. 

"Seems like it," Kirstein says. 

~

"Mr. Jaeger, as discussed previously, you were found not guilty on Counts 2 and 3," the judge says. "And you have been discharged of those counts. However, you were found guilty on Count 1."

Eren nods shortly, having expected that. He's still waiting for the actual bad news; for some reason a fine and a few months in jail seem pretty interchangeable to this system. He doesn't want to think about the havoc jail time will wreak on his life.

"In light of this verdict, I am imposing the following sentence," they say. "First, I'm ordering that you pay a fine of $1,700, which is due immediately. Next, I'm ordering that you serve a 6 month term of supervised probation. Most of the conditions are standard, and a copy of the judgment will be provided to you and reviewed with you by your counsel. The only special condition is mandatory completion of an anger management treatment, as directed by the United States Probation Office."

"Thank you, your honor," Armin says, and Eren repeats it quickly, voice rushed with his relief.

He's only grateful as they leave the courtroom, even as he's handed the information to pay the fine, but once the thick stack of papers that consist of his probation terms is slapped in front of him, his good mood starts going a little sour.

"No drugs, obviously, but if you're caught with them the punishment will be much, much steeper," Armin says, going down his copy of the judgment – this is obviously something he's seen several times before, and barely needs to glance at the document as he recites it. "No drinking, and you'll have a regular drug and alcohol testing schedule set up once we meet with your probation officer." 

The next six months include… New Year, Saint Patrick's _and_ his birthday. Eren gives a sad little moan, pressing his head down to the table. 

Armin pats his hand, and Eren can't tell if it's mock sympathy or not. "Just keep your nose clean, and this will all be a bad memory."

~

Deja vu. 

Eren's hunched over his (non-alcoholic) drink, watching Kirstein from across a bar. 

This place is a regular for Met employees, right across the street and serving fancy enough drinks in pretty enough glasses for instagram posts. Tonight is special, though, the entire place packed for some sort of annual – anniversary – Met thing. Eren's not into it, deep in a funk from the sentencing earlier today. 

He needs something good to happen and he finds himself staring, like he did years ago, hoping it will summon Kirstein, lure him over to his table, to proposition him in a charming mix of arrogance/confidence/nerves. Eren honestly can't believe how much he took it for granted last time. He'd make it better, this time around, he's learned a few tricks, he could make it worth Kirstein's while, if he could just… get him over here… 

But Kirstein isn't even looking. He's got his own drink in front of him, fiddling anxiously with the napkin underneath. Eren's trying to plan a strategy for attack when a small cheer breaks out. 

"Boyd!"

"Hey, you made it!"

Mr. Boyd has entered the bar, nodding and smiling at the group, but Eren frowns, sure his chances of getting with Kirstein have plummeted. He definitely didn't seem to be in a receptive mood last time they talked about their boss but – Kirstein's lifted his head and actually seems – happy? To see the guy?

"Ian," he welcomes, the smile on his face so real that it's actually reaching his eyes. 

"Jean," Boyd says and – puts his arm – around _Jean's_ waist. He – it's so absurd Eren can only blink, struggling to process it. Boyd lays a quick, affectionate kiss on Jean's cheek. What the hell? 

Jean is waving over the bartender, and together they order. Holy fuck, they're a couple. But Boyd is an old man?? Maybe not that old, now that Eren's looking again – but older, and not impressive, skinny, thin arms and a lack of chin. Not one of the employees milling around look surprised at this, though, so they're like – a real fucking _couple_ -couple.

Eren hears a sickening _crack_ and looks down at the glass in his hand, splinters traveling up the side. He sets it down, and leaves the bar, and thinks maybe anger management might not be the worst thing.

~

It doesn't take long to find out their history. It was a scandal at the time, but things have settled since then, people are used to it now, and talk about it easily; no big deal. Boyd was Jean's mentor, the one who originally scouted him away from _Banner_ , and the lead for all the photographers.

"Oh man, everyone was pissed," Connie, one of the light guys, remembers as he gets ready for today's set. "Cause Jean kept getting these real great shoots and he was – like _literally_ fucking the boss. It didn't take long for people to figure it out."

"But… he's good," Eren says. He was always getting the best shoots at _Banner_.

"Is he?" Connie shrugs. "They took him off shoots before it got out of hand, so… I donno, I don't think many people here have seen much of his stuff."

It feels like Eren's stepped into some darker, twisted timeline. 

He tries to shake it off once his models arrive – on time, Eren's got an established reputation on his own, now, no longer the wet-behind-the-ears photographer that models and staff just blew off – and sends them off to makeup, and takes a few test shots on the set. 

"You should change the chair."

Eren nearly jumps. It's Jean.

It's now that he realizes just how hard, and just how fast, he's fallen, because a month ago he'd forgotten about Jean completely, and now his heart barely calms at all, just flipping from surprise to squirmy, excited hope.

"The chair?" 

"There's some red ones downstairs from the Herschel set," Jean says.

" _Red_?" Eren repeats, looking back at the set. It's all black against a white backdrop, easy, by rote, minimalism. _Red,_ really?

"I was just in makeup," Jean says, speaking with an almost bored authority. "Your model is a bottle redhead and they've got her in ruby red lipstick. She'll be competing with the black."

"Right," Eren says, trying to come up with the gentlest way to say _fuck off_ , because that's about how it feels. This is his set – he knows what he's doing. 

Jean seems to read it in his face, and shrugs. "Up to you," he says, and leaves. 

Thank god. 

~

Sixty shots in and he can't get it out of his head, and the model isn't the focal point at all, it's black of the chair contrasting with her fucking hair.

Damn it. 

"Sasha?"

"Yeah?"

"There are some red chairs on the old Herschel set, could you go grab them?"

She does.

They get it in three.

~

 **Me** : did u know jean

Eren frowns and rephrases

 **Me** : did u know that kirstein hasn't takin pics in 2+ yrs?  
**Marco** : No  
**Marco** : Why? What happened?  
**Marco** : But you said he was working at the Met?  
**Marco** : He doesn't answer my texts :(  
**Me** : idk hes also sleeping with this old guy  
**Me** : he works here but like a jr lead or something

It's a hard thing because Eren knows he's jealous. So maybe he's building it up in his head, maybe Boyd wasn't even that rude the first time Eren met him. Jean seems more happy than not, and he's obviously good at the whole – consulting/editing thing. Eren can't imagine someone taking his own camera away, but that doesn't mean Jean's the same, that he can't find happiness in a supporting role.

"So Jean's telling me to ditch the vests," says Krista, smiling wide as she tells this story. Eren can already tell from the opening line and her absolute _glee_ that Jean was in the wrong, and how rare it seems to be to catch Jean in that spot. "And I'm saying, _no, Jean,_ because they're holding the whole look together, but Jean is just insisting, over and over – "

"Is Krista talking about the vests again?" Jean asks, from another room, sounding annoyed, but playfully so. 

"Yes!" The whole group of them shout back, laughing. 

"Listen," Jean is getting up, coming out of his office, obviously ready to defend himself. "She's not mentioning that these things were red and green _tartan_ – "

They all start booing his weak defense. 

" – That would barely even work on a Christmas shoot, come on."

"So I take them off for the last three sets," Krista says, blocking Jean with her arm, dismissing his excuse. "And guess which one they decided to run?"

" _Tartan_ ," Jean says again. 

"Jean just isn't very good at taking criticism," Boyd says, laughing a little as he steps up behind Jean. 

No one really seems to notice the jab except Jean himself, his expression freezing in place, and Eren, who also notices the way that Boyd has his hand against the middle of Jean's back, a subtle pressure to stay put as the conversation continues. 

"They also requested re-shoots, by the way," says Petra. 

"How much do you think that all ended up costing us?" Boyd says, expression and tone mild, but there's definitely something passing between him and Jean.

"Uh, I don't – not cheap," Jean says.

"Hope they don't take it from your paycheck," says Krista, as none of them have realized this isn't a joke anymore. 

"There's something to consider!" Boyd laughs along with the rest of them. "Since we're really only paying you to give your opinion. If your opinion is wrong, then…" 

Jean coughs, a little weakly, and shifts, trying to step back, away, but Boyd's grip holds him there. 

"I'd pay for his opinion," Eren says, ignoring Boyd completely and looking directly at Jean.

"Oh, well, of course!" Krista says, sounding flustered at the idea of her joke being taken seriously. 

"99% of the time," Nac adds. "As long as it doesn't involve tartan."

They laugh again and Jean finally escapes to his office, after a sharp pat on the ass from Boyd.


End file.
